


The Reveal - Dean

by Animal_Arithmetic



Series: Upon These Golden Sands I Built My House of Dreams [16]
Category: Supernatural, The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, revealing secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22705801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Animal_Arithmetic/pseuds/Animal_Arithmetic
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier reveal the family's darkest secret to Dean.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Upon These Golden Sands I Built My House of Dreams [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1614880
Comments: 25
Kudos: 505





	The Reveal - Dean

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops. My hand slipped. 
> 
> Also I haven't watched SPN in a very long time so I'm going off what I remember and if it's not right--well, it's an AU then lol

A soft knock interrupted Dean reorganizing his bookshelf. He liked to go through it every few weeks, improving his system, making the shelves flow better, look more appealing. He looked up to see mom standing nervously in the doorway.

“Hey, baby, can we talk to you for a minute?”

Mom never called him baby anymore unless it was serious. Shit—what had he done? Were they separating? Was dad or Sammy or Bobby sick—

“It’s okay, baby.” Mom tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s—It’s nothing bad. Well, it kind of is. But—We need to tell you something. Sam’s over at Oliver’s house for the night, so now’s our best chance to talk to you.”

Tentatively, Dean followed him out to the living room where dad was waiting on one couch, knees spread and elbows on his knees, hands clasped and leaning forward with his head hanging low. He looked up as they entered, and mom sat beside dad, clutching his arm. Dean sat on the other couch, looking warily between the two.

Dad took a deep breath and raised his head, looking him straight in the eye. “Dean. What we are about to tell you cannot tell your brother or speak of it to _anyone_ except us, Bobby, or Crowley. Do you understand?”

“What?” Dean frowned and bit his lip. “Why can’t Sammy know?”

“He’s not old enough,” mom said, shaking his head. “We decided that you’re old enough—mature enough, to handle what we’re about to tell you. But you have to promise you don’t tell your brother.”

Swallowing, Dean slowly nodded. He wasn’t quite sure what this was all about, but he liked that his parents were trusting him with a secret, at least. “I promise.”

“What do you remember about the weeks surrounding your mother’s death?”

Okay. That was a weird and not at all what he was expecting. He took a moment to think back on that night—what, eleven years ago? He’d been in therapy for _ages_ because of that night. Sometimes he still had nightmares, but he knew how to calm himself down. If they were _really_ bad, sometimes he still crawled into bed with his parents. And he remembered—his old dad, but he couldn’t really remember his name or what he looked like. But he remembered that he hadn’t been a good man, and Amy (who knew of the hunting life, thankfully enough, and knew about their situation), his therapist, had helped him understand _that_ whole thing, too.

“I remember,” he said slowly, scratching at his thighs. “I remember—the fire, and the—the man in the corner. With the yellow eyes. Not like dad, but different. I remember her burning on the ceiling and watching her die. And I remember by birth dad was—was a-abusive and he left us. And he made me mute.”

His parents looked between each other, looking confused. It was mom who spoke first. “What do you mean by that, baby? That he made you mute?”

Dean licked his lips. Did they not know that part? “I—I would wake up screaming and crying, and he would tell me to shut up. Any time I made noise he would—would grab me and shake me and tell me to shut up. So I did because he wouldn’t hurt me as m-much. And—And I was scared even after he left that making any noise would get me hurt.”

Tears were flowing down mom’s cheeks unashamedly. “Baby—Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t—We didn’t know.”

Dean shrugged. “It’s okay, mom.”

“But it’s _not_ —”

“We’re getting off track,” dad said gruffly, voice more grumbly than usual. “We’ll come back to that later.” He sighed and looked away for a moment, his hand coming up to grasp at mom’s still clutching at his arm. “John left because revenge was more important to him than raising you, and, through circumstances, you became my child anyway through a very, very old custom. But that’s a story for another time. The man—in the corner, with the yellow eyes. You know he was a demon. But what you don’t know is that he was there specifically to turn Sam into a Special Child by feeding him demon blood.”

Beside him, mom flinched and looked away, furiously wiping at his eyes. Dean’s blood froze. What—

“He was one of the Princes of Hell,” dad continued, looking straight at Dean. His unwavering gaze made his breath hitch. “He was tasked to create an army for Lucifer. Sam... is his vessel. And you are Michael’s.”

Wait, _what_? “What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?!”

Mom clenched his eyes shut, sounding pained as he said, “ _Heaven_... created you and Sam. Specifically so Lucifer and Michael could have their showdown so the angels could have Paradise on Earth, or some bullshit like that. As long as you don’t go to Hell to break the first seal, it won’t happen. Crowley said that the Righteous Man— _you_ —something about—about torturing souls in Hell would break the first seal. So you—you _can’t_ , okay?” he asked, eyes wide and pleading and leaking.

Dean swallowed, trying to buy time to comprehend what his parents had told him. _He_ would start, what, the End of Times? Angels— _actual angels_ —had created him and his brother just so they could fight? None of that made any sense. And how did they—

“How do you know all this?”

“Crowley,” dad said simply. “He’s got his connections. He doesn’t want that happening, of course, because it would ruin business for Hell,” he said with a roll of his eyes. Dean knew that Crowley was a demon—wasn’t _really_ their uncle—but he stopped by every once in a while for dinner and the like. Dean hadn’t ever understood _why_ , but. Well. Now he did.

“Baby,” said mom, tentatively reaching out and drawing Dean from his thoughts. The coffee table was in the way and there was no way mom could reach him without moving around it. “Baby,” he said again, sounding choked and tears running freely. “What’s going through your head? Talk to us. _Please_.”

And he knew mom’s biggest fear was Dean going mute again. It happened, from time to time, unfortunately, that the words would get stuck on his tongue when he was stressed or upset. Dean took a deep breath, closing his eyes and clenching his fists and trying to focus and sort his thoughts. What the hell was he _supposed_ to think after that?! If he fucked up, the end of the world would be _his_ fault. His heart clenched in his chest and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter, trying to ignore the burn behind his eyelids.

“So it would be my fault,” he said, voice thick and words almost getting stuck on his tongue, “that the end of the world happens.”

“No, _no_ , baby, no, we didn’t mean it like that,” mom babbled, finally moving over to sit next to Dean and holding him close. “It’s Heaven’s fault for what they did to you. It wouldn’t be your fault at all. You didn’t ask for it, baby.”

“But—”

“Listen to your mother,” dad grumbled. When Dean looked over, he had one corner of his mouth tucked up in a teasing smile. “It’s one of the few times he’s right.”

“Shut up,” mom hissed. He turned back to Dean, holding Dean’s head in his hands so he had to focus on him. “Dean, baby, listen to me, okay? It wouldn’t be your fault. We’re telling you so you can protect yourself. From what Crowley says, Heaven is desperate. They’re going to try tricking you, setting you up for failure. But it’s _not your fault_ if they... _succeed_ , alright? Angels are very powerful, influential beings. _It’s not your fault_. Say it.”

Dean shook his head, tears finally gathering in his eyes. He closed them, trying to prevent the tears from escaping, but it just squeezed them out instead. Mom quickly wiped them away and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

How was he supposed to prevent it? If they were scared enough to tell him about it, how the _fuck_ was he supposed to prevent it from happening? Maybe—Maybe if he—

“Dean.” Dad’s voice brought him out of his thoughts and he winced at the tone. “I can hear your heartbeat quickening. Whatever you’re thinking— _no_.”

“What are you thinking?” mom demanded.

Dean shook his head again, the words getting stuck on his tongue.

“ _Dean Rivia_ , what harebrained scheme are you thinking?”

He couldn’t help it—he grasped mom’s wrists and couldn’t stop the sob from escaping. “Can I stop it? If I die?”

The hands on his face squeezed for a moment before mom was shouting, “ _Dean Rivia_ you will do no such thing! You will not kill yourself— _Geralt! **Tell him**!”_

Large, rough hands took his. Surprised, he opened his eyes to see dad kneeling before him, yellow eyes hard and determined. “Killing yourself would only quicken it. From my understanding, the angels would force you into Hell that way. Crowley can do what he can to keep you from that, but that’s not a guaranteed thing.” Dad squeezed his hands. “Dean, we did not tell you this to frighten you, or to make you come up with extreme solutions on your own. We are your parents—we are here to protect you.”

“We told you so you could be aware of it,” mom added, turning his head back to face him. “We love you so, _so_ much. Please, baby. _Don’t_ —” He choked on a sob, bringing Dean close and rocking them back and forth.

_I don’t wanna die_

_I don’t wanna be a vessel_

_I don’t wanna be used_

_I don’t wanna end the world_

Mom shushed him, pulling him into his lap to hold him even closer as he cried. Dean clutched tight at his shirt as dad sat beside them and sandwiched him between them, like when he had been little and waking up every night from nightmares. Dad’s big, strong arms wrapped around them, squeezing him breathless. He didn’t want to die, but he was so _scared_. What was he supposed to do?

“We’re figuring it out,” dad murmured soothingly into his hair. “We’ve been working on it for years. Heaven isn’t ready for it, yet. Not for a few years. Not until Sam is older.”

That didn’t exactly settle any of Dean’s fears.

* * *

Dean didn't speak again for months.


End file.
